Friends or Enemies?
by Speckless Nougat
Summary: Working on a railway, one is bound to encounter some interesting experiences. Working somewhere like Sodor simply makes those experiences a little more unusual.
1. Friends or Enemies?

_**A/N: I've received some really lovely messages and reviews from people who have asked me to write another story in my 'Crewe' universe. Previously I had kept from writing more stories with my OC, Ellie, because I was worried that perhaps they were cringey and that they didn't make for good fanfic. However I was really touched by some of the comments sent to me so I decided to have another go at using my OC. I might make this a series of short stories, I might not, it depends on your feedback, if it's worthy of any. ^^' If you do like it, I'd love to hear your suggestions for stories you'd like to see, too. :)**_

 _ **I'd like to dedicate this in particular to RosieAngelina and an elusive person known only as 'Guest' who left such a lovely review on "After Crewe"; I longed to thank you properly! :)  
**_

 ** _Friends or Enemies?_**

"Keep still."

"It _hurts_! Get off!"

"Look, the only way I can give you any kind of relief is if you let me do this. I don't think they make sting cream for engines."

James half-growled, half-whimpered.

Do you know what my job is? I am employed at the Fat Controller's Works as a sort of deputy manager for a small group of workmen. Our jobs are to see to the small yet important things that are below the Foreman and his team, but if ignored could potentially cause accidents or other problems on the railway.

So how have I ended up also being head of First Aid? Not First Aid in the normal sense – this is Sodor after all – no, I'm talking about First Aid for _engines._

At the present moment, I was battling to tend to a certain red mixed traffic engine who had decided to get himself promptly stung on the nose.

Attending to such things on Sodor's engines is always a bit of a puzzle; whilst most of their illnesses and the like are mechanically related, occasionally you come across something a bit different. Something like this, for example. I had no idea what action to take when I first encountered such an incident; you didn't get steam engines come in with bee stings back at Crewe – _those_ engines weren't alive. Dealing with flesh wounds on an engine came as a surprise to me; I had almost expected their skin to be like a sort of rubber, I suppose. It had come as a shock when I'd found it to be soft and warm, just like any human's skin really. I don't understand how this came to be; so therefore it's easier if I just accept it.

"You're _killing_ me!"

In fairness to me, I was trying to be very gentle, but when you've got a temperamental _(stroppy!_ ) red engine on your hands who keeps fidgeting it can be pretty much impossible _not_ to hurt them. I had been rather sure of myself when it came to treating him; it wouldn't be like a human, I told myself, James can't run away or deliberately dodge me while I'm trying to sort him out.

 _Oh, how wrong I was._

James might not have been able to dodge me but he made tending the bee sting extremely hard going. I had reckoned without the 'muscle' movement in his face. He wasn't quiet and resilient when it came to pain like some engines; he twitched his (enormously swollen) nose and tried to push me away with his mouth. The expressions these actions resulted in were comical; I might have died laughing if I hadn't been trying to keep my balance and not be pushed right off of his front and onto the rails below. I had started my mission right in front of his face, making him go cross-eyed trying to watch me; but now I had wisely moved to his side – he couldn't do much to me with his cheek - and was doing my best to wash down the stung area with cool water. He looked at me with absolute contempt; I did my best to ignore him, which is not easy when his eye is about the size of my whole head.

"I don't know why they had to give _you_ the job of sorting me out; an important engine like myself should be being seen to properly by someone of adequate experience."

To be honest I wasn't completely sure why he was even sent to the Works in the first place for a bee sting, but then I remembered that the Foreman's words had been along the lines of: "You can sort James out, Ellie. It's not a serious problem and he can easily manage to do his work despite a sore nose in my opinion, but the Fat Controller does insist on his engines' health and comfort as well as their mechanical reliability."

James' comments didn't really bother me, either – I was used to him being both abrupt and insulting; it's just part of his persona. But I'd been battling with him for a good hour now; luckily it was quite late and the next stop for him would have been Tidmouth Sheds anyway. The swelling was gradually starting to go down – it would have been far less pronounced if he'd have kept still as I'd asked him; but James is James, and if you want him to let you do anything you have to call his bluff.

I had several debriefings to write-up after this; it had initially been a quiet day with most of the jobs being done by the Foreman and his team. I had been planning to catch up on paperwork – but James had completely ruined this idea by coming in with his crew whining and throwing about some interestingly chosen curse words.

I chucked the towel I had been using into the bucket of icy water and climbed down from his front using a small ladder. I folded the ladder up nonchalantly and leaned it against the wall and started sidling off towards the office, well aware that James was watching my every move with an aghast expression on his face. People very rarely cross James – maybe that's how he ended up with such an attitude, I don't know – but when they do it shocks him to his core.

I didn't look back at him; obviously I wasn't going to let him suffer for too long, but I wasn't going to let him sit there and insult me when I was doing my best to help him either.

"Ummm…" he was the first to speak. "Where are you going?"

"Paperwork. I've got plenty to do, James. If you don't need my help then get your driver and fireman to take you home."

James' mouth hung open in a satisfactory manner. I turned and carried on into the office. The red engine has a lot of pride; time ticked on and I heard nothing from him. I suppose I partly wanted him to beg me to come back and finish sorting him out – like most women, I wanted to flat out win the argument. That would be asking too much from James; if he'd been 'born' human he'd never have made marriage material.

After about an hour I was a little bit concerned; I knew he hadn't gone home because he was the only engine in the Works that evening, and the noise they make it'd be impossible to miss him leaving.

I crept over to door of the office and peered out into the main Works area; I knew James' driver and fireman wouldn't be around for a bit because they'd gone off to see to another job while they waited for their engine; I had a feeling another this 'job' might have something to do with a bit of dinner somewhere, but that was neither here nor there. I really felt for James's crew sometimes; more often than not they were the ones who ended up doing extra overtime because of their engine's behaviour, but the Fat Controller – Sir Topham Hatt – didn't always seem to remember that he was not only punishing engine, but also crew as well.

The red engine was staring miserably at the floor; his nose was almost back to the size and colour it had been on his arrival – if indeed it was not worse – and he looked like he might actually be about to cry at any minute. It was a strange scene to picture and one I suddenly realized I didn't want to become an actual reality. James can be a pain, and half the time I can't stick him, but…I don't know. There's something about a steam engine shedding tears that cuts me to the quick.

That's where being a girl will get you.

I didn't say anything when I quietly put the ladder back up and continued to bathe the stung area. James was silent too. He gave me a bit of a look - if looks could kill with James I'd have been dead the first time we met - but he didn't deliberately try and knock me off his running board anymore either.

When his driver and fireman returned a short time later, I'd finished tending him and he was looking a fair bit better, despite still resembling a certain reindeer often immortalized in all things Christmas. It was funny how my mood had changed towards him in the last hour; I felt almost fond of him at the moment.

His crew thanked me gratuitously, not noticing their engine squirming in discomfort - I think he thought I might snitch on him over his behaviour – then climbed into the cab ready to take him back to Tidmouth. I started make my way back to the office.

"Hey, Ellie."

His voice came from behind me as I walked away.

"Are we friends or enemies?"

I thought about it.

"I don't know. I haven't worked it out yet."

I closed the door and went back to work.

 _ **~ End**_

 **A/N: My aim of this story was to try and show my character's not perfect; I don't want her to always be right, know everything and everyone to luurrrrve her XD I hope that this lives up to those kind comments from you; I'm not sure it does though Dx and I hope you'll leave me a review and let me know if you have the time. I'm so grateful for each and every one. :)**


	2. Of Coal Dust and Buffers

**A/N: I was requested to write a sort of parallel story that runs alongside the RWS book "More About Thomas the Tank Engine." Since 'my' universe is weird cross between book and TV series, I'm trying to keep the stories chronological and in time with when Ellie moved to Sodor, but I hope you'll grant me a bit of artistic license with keeping it 100% accurate. ^^'**

 **My first request from CarsWorldFan. Go and read her stories, I promise you won't regret it!**

 **Of Coal Dust and Buffers (Thomas, Percy & The Coal)**

 _ **PERCY**_

We were heading along the line towards Crovan's Gate. I was glad that I was being shunted by Toby, because if I'd been moving under my own steam, I'd have had no will to go anywhere. In fact I wanted to sit in a siding and sulk. The tram engine was talking to me, but I didn't grace him with much in the way of answers. I was in a strange mood; one half of me wanted to talk about what had happened, the other just wanted to be left alone.

There was coal dust everywhere. It was in my nose, my mouth felt horrible and dry, and my eyes itched where the small particles fluttered down every time I blinked or moved an eyebrow. Humans don't honestly appreciate the usefulness of arms.

I thought about having a good moan to my crew. There's not much they can do except apply the brakes when I get to the Works but at least they bothered to stay with me. I opened my mouth to start, then promptly closed it again. I remembered that they were already fed up with me after everything that had happened this week.

A few days ago, I'd been busy getting my trucks filled with coal to take to Ffarquar; Thomas had already been being particularly annoying, forever going on about how blue was the only proper colour for an engine, blah blah blah. If he went on about it any longer I'd have said he was turning into a blue, tank engine version of James. So long story short, I ended up crashing backwards through a set of unsafe buffers. Thomas ended up covered in coal dust. Let's just say, he wasn't happy. We argued that night. We hadn't argued in ages; I found it upsetting. I might have let the whole incident go, but Thomas was so unkind I couldn't help but argue back. Our crews got fed up with trying to placate us and went home to their families; but our argument carried on.

I thought perhaps it might all blow over by the next day. I was too busy to worry about it too much, as well. My brakes felt a bit strange; I kept meaning to bring it up to Driver but with all the work we had to do I just didn't get the chance. There's a saying I've heard people use; I think it's "keep calm and carry on" – well I wouldn't recommend it. That's exactly what I did, and look what happened. No sooner had I pulled out of the station and headed to the nearest water tower than I realized what the strange feeling was in my brakes; they'd gone and failed on me. There was a crack, I shot straight through the buffers ( _again!_ ) and ended up wheel-deep in coal. The dust was dreadful as steam spilled out of me from every angle; then Thomas went past with his train, and he was laughing at me. I admit I did laugh at him yesterday when he got covered in coal dust, but my brakes had failed! It could have been serious!

I sighed; I knew I was looking for a reason to blame Thomas. I was still cross with him from the previous night in the shed. In reality I hadn't gone that far as the mountain of coal had stopped me; though I'd still ended up like this – being shunted to the Works, coal dust on my face and paintwork like a mark of shame.

After being shunted inside, Toby rang a goodbye. I was almost glad I didn't have any steam to answer. I was feeling very sorry for myself indeed. I wanted to have a good moan to someone, but I didn't want to be made fun of. Thomas had done enough of that already, and even Toby seemed to be laughing at me a bit.

Suddenly remembering where I was, I looked for Ellie. She was one of the newer people the Fat Controller had employed in the Works; when steam on the mainland began to dwindle – taken over by diesels – I remembered he had said something to us about taking on new staff from railway works such as Swindon or Crewe; but none of us thought much of it. Aside from our crews, the people at the works don't usually have the time to make conversation with us; they're always far too busy, and the Works is never a quiet place to be, except at night. When there weren't any other engines here aside from the Works Diesel, the place was very lonely.

I scanned the passers-by for a while, but I didn't spot her. The foreman sent over a team of workers to look me over, but after the standard 'Hello, Percy' they got on with their jobs. I pulled my best tragic face, hopefully. I might as well have used my best efforts on the adjacent wall for all the good it did me. I spotted a few people I knew. Erin waved to me as she went across to the other side of the workshop. I gave her a faint smile. I remembered before the last war when there were hardly any women working here at all. It wasn't something that bothered me, of course – man or woman, as long as they knew how to treat an engine properly, I didn't mind – in fact I rather liked having more girls in the works because they didn't make fun of me, and sometimes they even made a fuss of me, which I had to admit I secretly liked. I knew James liked this too, even though he'd run me off the rails if I ever dared to suggest it.

After another twenty minutes of no luck, I decided that she must have had the day off. I closed my eyes; there seemed very little left to do but go to sleep. It's not an easy task when you're having your brakes pulled about and there's lots of activity going on inside your cab and all around you. Every time there was a lull in activity I'd relax, feeling the tempting pull of sleep luring me in – I'd not got much sleep the previous night, arguing with Thomas -and then they'd start working on me again. The more I tried to relax, the more uncomfortable I became, and I must have been pulling funny faces or something because after a little while someone put a hand on my buffer. I didn't even open my eyes. I knew the touch of this hand. It wasn't the touch of a workman or someone casually leaning on me like a post; this was a friend's touch.

"Bad day?" A familiar voice asked.

"You don't know the half of it, Ellie." I muttered sadly. I didn't say anything else, but she must have guessed something was bothering me that wasn't just the usual engine bickering – well it was more serious than that to me, anyway – because she let go of me and I heard her dismissing the workmen, much to my surprise. There's a general murmur of surprise, but Ellie's their manager after Jim the foreman, so they do what she says. But old Jim (though he definitely doesn't know we call him that) doesn't miss a trick.

"I hope you're going to do the assessment yourself, Ellie," he shouted across the noise of the workshop, "Sir Topham Hatt wants Percy back on form ASAP."

"Don't worry, I'll get on it!" she replied smoothly, without missing a beat. She gives me a wink as she walks past, stopping long enough to whisper loud enough for me to hear.

"So, tell me all about it."

 _ **ELLIE**_

Listening to Percy's story, it could have been very easy to simply dismiss it as a bit of engine quarrelling that got out of hand. As I've said before, they're always rivaling each other over something. But I got the feeling that the argument had made the poor green saddletank very miserable, not to mention he was in dire need of cleaning. I thought about spoiling him and giving him a bit of a washdown; but I decided I'd better not push my luck. Jim had already been lenient with me when I decided to dismiss the team and do the assessment myself, but he'd let it slide. I'd do the assessment first, then the spoiling thing.

While I worked, Percy told me the whole story. I was in the cab for some of the time, so I could hear very well. It's an oft-pondered thing, how engines can hear their crews talking to them over the hiss of steam and the sound of the vibrating rails – not to mention the noise that goes on inside the cab when the engine is moving. The truth is that their voices reverberate back through the boiler, which does help to amplify it, and in the cab it sounds like surround sound in a cinema.

On finding the problem and making notes of what parts are going to be required, I climbed down and headed round to the edge of the workshop. I decided that Percy deserved a bit of spoiling; he'd had a rough week by the sound of it. I got my trusty bucket of water and a clean rag. Without saying anything I climbed up on Percy's running board and very gently started washing his face. He shut his eyes to keep the water out and I had to stifle a laugh at the coal dust that had settled on his eyelids, looking for all the world like thick black eyeshadow.

I kept quiet because I definitely knew Percy wouldn't appreciate me laughing at him, and partially because I have to be so careful when attending to Percy's face. He's oddly sensitive about it; I supposed something must have happened in the past to make him so, but he hadn't confided in me about that. But whatever it was, he didn't like people touching his face, and as far as I knew the only people at the Works he allowed to do this were me and Erin.

"Do you think it _was_ my fault, Ellie?" he asked me dejectedly.

I'd got a bit lost in thought so it took me a second to realize that he was referring to the argument with Thomas. I smiled at him.

"Of course not, Percy. You know how Thomas sometimes gets over these things…"

"Well why did he blame me, then?" Percy asked, sounding cross. "Thomas is supposed to be my friend."

"It will blow over," I soothed gently. "By tomorrow I bet you he'll be laughing about the whole situation!"

"He'll be laughing on the other side of his face if I get my way," Percy muttered, his tone uncharacteristically dark. "I want to pay him out!"

What was it with these engines and 'paying each other out'?

I delicately wiped a bit of dust from near Percy's nose. It was the area he hated being touched the most. I sometimes worried he'd have a full blown panic attack, but today he just flinched a bit. I dropped the rag into the bucket and crouched down so I was nearer Percy's eye-level.

"No, Percy. I understand how angry and hurt you are but is it really worth getting yourself into trouble for?"

Percy glared at me, clearly irritated that I didn't agree with his master plan. Then he looked at his buffers, suddenly a bit shame-faced.

"I suppose you're right," he said quietly. "I'll leave it be…for now."

I decided to ignore the 'for now' addition. This was probably the best I was going to get. I was going to say more when I noticed Percy's eyelids were drooping. I smiled to myself and patted the side of his smokebox.

"Have a rest, Percy. You might feel better."

He was practically gone already, but he managed to speak.

"Yes…I suppose I am…rather tired…"

That was the last I heard of him on that day; but it was far from the end of what I like to call "The Saga of Thomas and Percy".

 _ **TO BE CONTINUED**_

 **Thank you for all the reviews and favourites! I'm working on requests in the order I received them, while also trying to get them at least roughly chronologically correct, so if I haven't written your request yet, I haven't forgotten! I'll be writing all requests I've received so far, I'm a little slow but I hope you don't mind. Thank you for being patient.**


	3. Ground To A Halt

**GROUND TO A HALT (THE RUNAWAY)**

 **A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews! I honestly didn't expect to receive any for this story, so I'm very grateful! :D And to the elusive 'Guest' – I'm so glad you came back, because it's really your fault that I started writing these again!**

 **This is story number two from CarsFan's request. It's a little shorter, but the next story will make up for that lol!**

 _ **ELLIE**_

I'm in work early today. In fact so far there's only Jim and I on-site. It's good that we're punctual, though (like they say, these things happen for a reason) because not long after we've gone through the exceedingly important and necessary stage of making a decent coffee to get us through the morning, we hear the unmistakable sound of a steam engine entering the Works. I put down my coffee with heavy heart, looking back at it longingly before I go with Jim to see just who it is that requires our help. At least I was guessing they needed help; there weren't any deliveries scheduled for this time of the morning as far as I was aware.

My jumbled morning thoughts were interrupted by the visitor – Edward, a FR K2, circa 1896, and the oldest engine on the North Western Railway. Towed behind him is Thomas, and he's not looking too clever. It's unusual to see Thomas looking poorly. I gave Jim a quick sideways glance; his expression matched how I was feeling in concern for Thomas. We recovered ourselves quickly, though, assuming neutral expressions for both Thomas and Edwards' sake. Nobody likes a Joe's comforter.

"Good morning, Sir, Ma'am," Edward politely greeted the both of us. The way he always addressed me as 'Ma'am' made me smile; I felt like the Queen when he said that.

"I've brought Thomas along for you to have a look at," Edward continued, concern edging his gentle tone. "His crew have looked him over, and they've had the emergency engineers look him over at Knapford, but they just can't find out what the matter is. Sir Topham Hatt decided it would be best if I brought him here. He said that you two would know what to do."

Even though I've been working here for quite some time now, I couldn't help but feel a swell of pride in hearing that. The fact that Sir Topham still remembered I worked here was an honour enough. The feeling didn't last, though, because I was rather worried about poor old Thomas.

As soon as Edward left, we got to work straight away. The others would join us when they arrived, but for now we just wanted to get on so we could make Thomas feel better. Something in the atmosphere changed between Jim and I as we worked together to assess Thomas's situation. For a short time, we no longer had ranks, and he was no longer my superior; we became just two normal people, united in the mission to do something – anything – to help out our friend. Thomas has known Jim longer than I have, and it's clear the latter is fond of the cheeky blue tank engine who charms the socks off everybody.

Later, we were in the cab, when Thomas suddenly let out a hiss of pain. Unable to stand by and watch him suffer without doing anything, Jim ran his hands across the familiar controls -the reverser, the regulator – muttering soothing words that wouldn't have sounded out of place from a father attending his child after a nasty fall. He's not normally the comforting type, (though he is a genuinely nice person) but he really does have a soft spot for Thomas.

After a quick discussion and agreeing the conclusion of our assessment, we set to work on commencing Thomas's repairs. He wasn't well at all – Jim concluded that at some point he must have taken on contaminated water. Although he wasn't in danger, we wanted to get started as quickly as possible. Taking on bad water is an unpleasant experience for any engine. The nearest comparison I can draw is that it's a bit like when humans get food poisoning. Generally, not life-threatening, but deeply unpleasant. We wanted to make Thomas comfortable as soon as we could.

By the following afternoon, we'd made considerable progress; I remained hands on for the job under Jim's orders. Jim is always the one in charge of Thomas's case if or when he's ill; no-one questions that. It's an unspoken rule.

I thought Thomas had been rather brave about the whole situation, and I tried to talk to him now and then when I can, to help him take his mind off things. It was all going rather well until I stuck my huge foot in it, as usual.

For reasons that I think are pretty obvious in this account so far, the feud between Thomas and Percy had been the furthest thing from my mind. In fact I had kind of assumed that they would have brushed it all under the carpet by now (it had been about two weeks since Percy had been to the Works to have his brakes repaired), so I forgot to watch my step with what I said. It all went to hell when I came out with:

"You'll be well on your way to being mended soon, Thomas," I said with a wink. "Percy will be worried about you, so we have to work quickly."

Mentally I kicked myself when I saw the tight-lipped look of contempt on Thomas' face.

"Huh, Why should Percy be worried about me? We're not friends anymore."

I decided to go in for the kill. The worst he could do was argue with me. Which is exactly what he did.

"Don't be silly, Thomas," I replied. Carefully. "Don't you think this feud business has gone far enough?" Hmm, second part, not so carefully.

"Don't you think _you_ should mind your own business?" Thomas snapped. He didn't raise his voice enough to make a scene – no-one wants to be on the receiving end of a scolding from Jim, who will be upon you like a ton of bricks if you dare to shatter the smooth atmosphere of efficiency at his Works – but Erin and couple of my other colleagues heard him. Erin pulled an interesting face at me that was a combination of sympathy and "you shouldn't have stuck your nose in". What an embarrassment. I could hardly blame him right then though, could I? I decided to be gracious and remain silent, even though I had to secretly admit to myself that was just the tiniest bit hurt.

The day continued in silence for the most part, though I still tried to comfort Thomas at times, particularly when the workmen were causing him quite a bit of discomfort. He didn't acknowledge me, but he didn't tell me to clear off, either, so I took that as a good sign.

 _ **THOMAS**_

The workmen were packing up for the day and I was glad. Much as I dislike being stuck in the Works, unable to move, I'd had enough for one day. The Foreman told me that the cause of my mystery illness had more than likely been caused by taking on fouled water; and I knew exactly where that had come from, too. I'd had to use the old stand-pipe to fill up on water the morning I'd come into the Works, because Percy had been taking too long at the main water tower. It was all Percy's fault. _Again_.

Somewhere inside, I knew I was being unfair. But I'd been so annoyed with Percy that last few days that in my mind, it simply served him right. But it didn't feel fair to me at all; now I was stuck here while Duck got to take out Annie and Clarabel on _my_ branch line, doing _my_ work. In fact I was feeling very sorry for myself indeed. I felt a little less ill than I had the previous day (alright, a _lot_ less ill), but I was still feeling down in the dumps.

I was also feeling guilty about yesterday. I didn't _mean_ to shout at Ellie, especially when she's always been kind to me, but I just didn't want to talk about Percy. At least not at that moment. Today however, well, that was a different story. In a way, I just want to get it all out in the open. I've tried talking to my crew, but they just say that both me and Percy are being silly, which infuriates me even more. I'm not going to forgive Percy. Why should I? _I_ wasn't in the wrong, Percy was.

I waited until there was a lull in activity. Almost everyone had gone home; Ellie was talking to the Foreman (I'm not sure if he ever _goes_ home; he always seems to be here). I waited patiently for them to finish (well, not _that_ patiently). I had a sudden unpleasant feeling that she'd be cross with me, though it seemed unlikely. I hadn't really seen Ellie cross with any engine; and she certainly didn't shout like the Fat Controller did sometimes. She was more of a person who explained what you'd done wrong in a patient tone, sounding more disappointed than angry, which always made an engine feel even worse.

Perhaps she was wiser than I thought.

"I'm sorry I was rude to you, Ellie," I said earnestly when she came over to me. "I just wasn't feeling well and I…"

Ellie simply held up a hand.

"And you didn't want to talk about it. I understand, Thomas. I'm sorry I was pressuring you."

We smiled at each other; neither of us really liked arguing.

 _So why are you so keen to keep up this feud with Percy?_

A little voice in my head jibed at me, but I tried to ignore it.

"I just wish all this with Percy was over. Why can't he just apologize?"

I wanted her to agree with me, but she had to apply some sort of irritating logic to the situation.

"You know, you could just apologize to Percy instead. I mean, you'd still get the same outcome, wouldn't you?"

If it had been possible, I would have shaken my head. Sometimes, Ellie just didn't get it at all.

"I'm not apologizing. If I say sorry first, Percy will have won! And _he_ was the one in the wrong! Why should I apologize?"

I looked down at her with my very best (and well-practiced) disdainful expression. She patted my buffer, clearly worried I'd burst something if I carried on.

"You wouldn't consider apologizing just so things can get back to normal? It must be very tiring quarreling all the time…"

She was trying to work some sort of psychology thing on me, I just knew it. But I was wise to her tricks. I wouldn't be fooled. Not this time. Perhaps in the past…but that's another story.

"Huh," I continued loftily, "I can keep up and argument for as long as he can! I'm not saying sorry, and that's that!"

 _ **ELLIE**_

There really was no point in trying to reason with him further. Everyone thinks that Thomas is just a cheeky blue E2 with a cute little face, and therefore a cute little temperament. They don't know the half of it. He might look sweet but he can be more stubborn than an old man hermit who's lived under a rock all his life. I decided to simply placate him for now; he'd had a full wash-out and to make doubly sure there were no more problems, Jim had ordered us to carry out other routine tests just to make sure there'd be no more trouble - at least for a while. All in all, things were coming along well. Thomas would be back in business in a day or so. I patted his buffer again.

"I'll let the two of you sort this mess out. But think about apologizing to Percy, okay? It'd make you the bigger person of the two, if you said sorry first…"

I felt awfully mean to Percy by saying that, but I really just wanted to spur Thomas into apologizing. He didn't answer me. I sighed. I was trying to think of something else to say when Jim's voice (he was _still_ here?) jolted through me like an electric shock.

"Ellie! Come here and help me sort out this brake handle. Jump to it!"

I jumped.

~ **TO BE CONTINUED  
**

 **Thank you all for the kind comments! I will try and write all requests I've received so far. I might be slow, but watch this space. ;)  
**


	4. Two Drips Together

**A/N: Final story in CarsFan's request. Took a tiny liberty with how the original story played out but I hope that's okay! I apologize for the length of this one, I might have got carried away; and I hope that it's not over sentimental. Sorry if it is. xD**

 **TWO DRIPS TOGETHER  
**

 _ **PERCY**_

The cut on my forehead was so sore. I winced a bit and bit my lip hard. They wouldn't have brought me here to the Works, but shortly after I'd been hit by low-hanging branch that morning, the cut had started to…well, I don't really know how to describe it for engine, but humans call it 'bleeding', though the stuff that comes out of humans is red, where as whatever it is that's comes out of cuts on engines is usually a sort of copper-rust shade. It depends on what sort of injury or illness an engine has, really. Sometimes if they're physically ill (like if there's something wrong mechanically) they might leak black, sooty water from their mouth or funnel, but if it's a super...er…superfiscal one, they might get something like I had. I had to stop thinking about it there because it was making me feel queasier than ever, and I didn't feel particularly well because I'd had a great big tree branch smack me in the face.

I didn't have to wait long for Ellie to come and tend to my injury. I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but I don't like people touching my face. I only allow Ellie because I know she'll be gentle with me.

So there I was in the Works, looking and feeling very silly as Ellie carefully patched up the cut on my forehead. I put on my best sad face, hoping for some sympathy, because I was fed up with everybody shouting at me at the moment. I recalled the conversation – well, it was more of an argument, actually – that I'd had with Thomas the night before, in the shed. He'd called me a drip. It wasn't fair, I hadn't even been talking to him, I was talking to Toby. I _wasn't_ a drip. I know we'd had a row – well, I suppose it must have been considered more than a 'row' by now, because I heard my driver call it a 'barney' or something – but why did Thomas have to be so horrible to me?

I felt my throat close uncomfortably, even though I knew how pathetic I was being. I didn't know how to pull my face to disguise my distress, because to be honest, I don't usually have people standing on my running board so close to my face. On platforms, yes, in my cab, yes, but not up close and personal near my face. Only when I was being worked on did I have to put up with that. I didn't mind Ellie getting too close. The cut on my forehead throbbed again, but at least she wasn't rough with me like some of the Works staff. I'd had a really mean man working on me once. That's where my fear of having people close to my face came from. I fell asleep while he was asking me questions (it was very late in the evening), and he pinched my nose hard, so that I couldn't breathe. I woke up panicking that I'd fallen into the sea at the harbor again; it took a while for them to calm me down. The culprit looked a bit shame-faced, and despite the state I was in, I couldn't help but feel a tiny bit smug over that. I didn't want anyone touching my face after that incident unless it was absolutely necessary. I wouldn't let anyone near my smokebox for a long time after that, not even my driver, but the main setback of being an engine means that sooner or later, you're going to have to have someone look you over. Someone with arms and hands.

It all came to a head late one summer's evening; I was due an inspection and constantly complained to the others about it. They couldn't understand my fears; they all said I was being silly and a coward. I sat awake for a long time that night, sulking that no-one wanted to hear me out. But when I thought all the other engines were asleep, Henry suddenly spoke up. He asked me why I was behaving in such a manner over a silly old inspection – I'd had them before, hadn't I? I decided to tell him what happened. What was the worst he could do? Tease me for being a silly little tank engine? Tell Gordon and James and they'd all make even more fun of me the next morning? I was used to all that, so I threw caution to the wind.

Much to my surprise, Henry was very sympathetic. I wished – not for the first time – that he didn't always have to copy Gordon and James. I missed the old Henry sometimes. The one who was always worrying. He was much nicer on his own. I supposed he was thinking of his ombrophobia – though I wasn't sure if he still had it. No one really knows if the tunnel incident was the result of a genuine phobia or a severe attack of conceit. I could have brought it up, but decided against it as we'd just shared a moment of genuine friendship and it would have been stupid to ruin it.

Henry simply listened to what I had to say in silence. I'm sure that if he'd been human, he'd have been wearing a monocle and nodding his head wisely. As he was, in fact, a steam engine, he merely frowned as he pondered what I'd said. He told me if I was really scared of the inspection, then I should ask at the Works for Ellie to do it. I stared at him with my mouth open, confused.

"Who's Ellie?" I asked. I suppose she couldn't have been working on Sodor for very long at the time. And just like that, Henry's old cockiness returned.

" _My_ friend." He replied, taking in my agog expression with great satisfaction. I hated to admit that it was rather surprising. We engines normally considered the people who worked on our railway our betters, whatever their position. We couldn't run without any of them, even the firelighters ( _especially_ the firelighters!) and we always addressed them as Sir or Madam, from stationmaster to engine cleaner. Even our drivers we addressed simply as that – all except Edward, who's crew have worked with him for a very long time; but even he still addresses them as 'Mr Sand' and 'Mr Heaver', not by their first names.

Henry looked very smug as he observed my reaction.

"Tell her I sent you," he said airily, before yawning and settling down to get some rest. He was always so sure of himself; no way was I going to say that!

At the Works, they did let Ellie perform my inspection, though I certainly didn't say 'Henry sent me'! I think the foreman was a little taken aback. We engines normally just do what we're ordered to. We aren't allowed the privilege of being able to pick and choose.

I came back from my wander down Memory Lane and into the present. I must have been pulling funny faces again because I suddenly became aware that Ellie had finished patching me up and was simply standing there with a hand very carefully touching my cheek. She knew I normally hated things like that, so she must have already twigged that something was very wrong.

"Are you alright, Percy?"

She asked me very gently. Her tone was so kind that I very nearly lost control altogether. I cleared my throat a bit.

"No." I replied, my voice only a hoarse whisper. Sensing that I was probably about to make a total fool of myself in public, she leant forward and very quickly kissed my forehead even though it was all grimy and sooty.

"All done." she smiled at me, and I gave her a very wobbly smile in return. My face was as red as a signal from the unexpected show of motherly affection; but I very quickly pulled myself together as I saw my crew approaching. We had work to do, and I didn't want them to know how close I'd come to crying because I was feeling so miserable. They only tease me anyway. I didn't think I could take anymore teasing today.

"Ellie," I said quietly as they hauled themselves up into my cab, "Thank you."

My voice cracked again slightly but Ellie didn't draw attention to this; she simply gave me a thumbs up.

* * *

 _ **ELLIE**_

When I was out of Percy's limited peripheral vision, I turned and looked back at him sitting there forlornly as he waited for his crew to raise steam, feeling like someone had just stomped all over my heart. As I've said before, there's something about seeing a steam engine cry that I just can't bear.

Seeing Percy's unhappiness made me more determined than ever to do something. I just hadn't figured out what. I was just considering praying for some sort of sign when my prayer was answered before I even said it, in the form of Jim rushing over to me looking somewhat flustered.

"Trouble with Thomas again, Ellie," he said briskly. "His siderod's broken, swung up and punctured his water tank. We need him back here for repairs ASAP." Jim wiped his forehead with a rag that could only just about pass as clean. "I hope we don't make any mistakes this time…"

Ah yes, I'd almost forgotten about that. In the hurry to get Thomas back in business last time, somewhere along the line we'd left his brake lever very stiff. In fact extremely stiff. It had caused a lot of trouble as far as I'd heard (Thomas's driver was friends with Ted, Henry's fireman, who I've come to know as a good friend. Thomas's driver told Ted, who in turn told me. Got all that? Great.) It all came to a head with Thomas ending up 'running away'. I say that 'we' left the brake handle too stiff – as a matter of fact we all know it was Jim, who made probably the first mistake he's ever made in his whole history of running the Fat Controller's Works. As a team, we'd never have grassed him up, though. He's given his life to this place; in that respect he reminds me of my father.

I was worried about Thomas. What Jim had said sounded very painful; this really hadn't been a good period for everybody's favourite tank engine. Not only was he going through the wars physically, he didn't even have his best friend to turn to…

And then the last (and only) piece of the puzzle fell into place. I could practically feel the cogs in my head turning.

"Percy could go and fetch Thomas!" I said to Jim enthusiastically, though it's difficult to be enthusiastic quietly. I didn't want Percy to hear me; that would've given him a chance to decline, and I couldn't have that.

"Percy?" Jim looked thoughtful. "Is that wise? With all the arguing they've been doing lately?"

Jim might look like he's paying no attention to anything other than his work, but there are no flies on him. No flies, bees, wasps, or insects of any kind. It was as if he could see the light bulb over my head, because he decided to agree.

"Very well. On your own head be it. But you can be the one to tell Percy that he's got to go and fetch Thomas."

I readily agreed. I knew Percy wouldn't be happy with me, but I couldn't worry about that now. I had my fingers crossed that this would end their silly argument for good. That, and I wanted to see Percy smile again. I wanted to see _both_ of them smiling again.

Sucking in my breath, I approached Percy again, signaling to the crew to hold back on departing just for the moment. I smiled at Percy. He made a gallant effort to smile back, which made me feel even worse for what I was about to do. There was no turning back now, though. I inaudibly cleared my throat and hoped that, when I spoke, my voice would be steady.

"What a shame about Thomas," I said, making an effort to look extra tragic. Percy looked very surprised, not to mention wounded that I'd brought up this particular subject again. I could see Percy's driver and fireman waving frantically to me from the cab window. I could see they were motioning for me to shut up, but I've never been one to listen when I've got my mind set on something, and simply pretended not to see.

I did feel mean towards Percy, especially after how upset he'd been that morning, but that was partially why I was doing this. Percy needed his best friend back.

"What about Thomas?" He asked, giving me a look that would have sent thousands of girls sobbing to their beds.

"Well, he's had an accident," I said, as smoothly as I could. "Punctured his water tank, so I heard. He needs someone to tow him along to the Works. I…well, I didn't think to suggest you, seeing as you two aren't friends anymore…"

There was a sort of strangled cry as Percy's driver practically exploded inside the cab. Percy didn't seem to notice.

"That's right." The green saddletank muttered.

"I told Thomas's driver that you couldn't possibly go and help, even if the passengers on Thomas's train are depending on you…"

That as you know was a total lie, because I hadn't even been the one to speak to Thomas's driver, but sometimes I feel you have to be cruel to be kind. Particularly with Sodor engines.

Something had changed in Percy's demeanour.

"Did…did you say the passengers need my help?" he asked. I nodded solemnly. "I forgot about them..." Then he looked even more worried. "And…is Thomas badly hurt?"

I suddenly knew how footballers felt when the ball went into the goal. I hid my look of hopeful triumph, however. If this was going where I thought it was then the plan was working out better than I'd thought. I managed to keep my voice level when I answered Percy's question.

"I'm not sure," I said. "But I guess you won't find out, as you won't be rescuing Thomas…"

Do you hear that? That's the sound of my internal cunning laugh.

By now, Percy was looking outraged.

"What are you talking about, Ellie?" He asked incredulously. "Of course I'll rescue Thomas! He's my best friend, and he's in trouble!"

Percy gave me his "killer-engine-glare". To be honest, he's too sweet to look really menacing, but I remained composed, stifling a stupid grin. I didn't even care that Percy was mad at me. I decided I'd tell him the truth later (if he hadn't fallen in by then), when the whole mess with Thomas was sorted out.

* * *

 _ **PERCY**_

I called to my crew to help me set off. I couldn't believe Ellie thought I would abandon my best friend like that! Our feud was already in the past as far as I was concerned. I even almost forgot about how upset I'd been these last few days. When a friend is in danger it really puts things into perspective, doesn't it? I suddenly remembered Ellie saying something along those lines to me a little while ago. I can't shake the feeling that she's tricked me, somehow. Pondering this as my four little wheels pounded the rails, my siderods moving so fast that they were a blur, I still couldn't put my buffer on it. Remembering Thomas, I decided to forget about it until later.

When I arrived at the scene, Thomas was waiting, looking very sorry for himself indeed. I decided to be gracious and kept quiet as I firstly took care of the passengers, then trundled back to Thomas to tow him off to the Works. Again. We'd practically lived there the last few weeks. He was very quiet when I reached him, and for a while he couldn't quite look me in the eye. I was coupled up to him, and we started our journey in silence. Eventually, he cleared his throat and spoke, his voice low.

"Thank you for coming to rescue me, Percy." He whispered. "I didn't deserve it. Can…can we be friends again?"

I could no longer find it in me to be cross with him.

"Of course we can, Thomas!" I replied cheerfully, feeling happy for the first time in quite a while. "I'd be delighted! And to think that if I'd listened to Ellie, we wouldn't have made up our quarrel at all!"

Thomas was silent for a moment, the only sounds between us being that of wheels pounding on rails, and the occasional voice from our crews. Then the truth suddenly dawned on me, though Thomas began to laugh before I could say anything.

"It sounds to me like Ellie played one of her reverse psychology tricks on you, Percy!"

I tried to be cross. Everyone thinks it's easy to trick me…but somehow I didn't have it in me to be angry. That explained everything she had said to me that I'd thought so strange before I left to rescue Thomas; now I understood. Unable to think of what to say, I started to laugh, too.

* * *

I arrived at the Works with Thomas in tow. Jim was ready and waiting for him. I smiled to myself; everyone knew that Thomas was Jim's favourite engine. I didn't mind too much, because I hoped that maybe I was one of Ellie's favourites.

Both she and Jim were making a bit of a fuss of Thomas; I suppose it was to take his mind off his injury. It looked very painful; I thought he was being very brave about it.

"Shouldn't take us to long to repair you, Thomas," Jim said to the blue engine. "I'll get straight to work on it."

I would have stayed with Thomas a bit longer, but I felt my crew climb back into the cab and gently wind the reverser; I knew I had to get back to the branch line to cover for Thomas. I sat simmering quietly, waiting for my steam pressure to rise, when Ellie came over to me, smiling. I tried to frown and failed miserably.

"So…can I assume that you two are friends again?" She asked, already knowing the answer.

"Of course," I smiled at her. "I…thanks, Ellie."

She looked puzzled.

"Thanks for what? _I_ didn't do anything…."

But we both knew she had. If I hadn't agreed to go and help Thomas, who knows where our feud would have ended? Maybe we'd have never spoken to each other again? I shivered a little, despite my fire, and made a mental note never to have an argument with Thomas like that again. I felt my driver pat the side of my cab; I knew it was time to go. I whistled goodbye to everyone, before going back to the branch line, and getting to work.

 **~END**

 **END NOTE: And that's the end of this request! I hope it was okay. I tried to write Henry in between his old character and his new one (in the TV series) but to be honest I don't actually mind his new persona. I even prefer it to him simply being a carbon copy of Gordon, which is what seemed to happen later on in the classic TV series later on, so I tried to get a decent balance between the two here.**

 **Just a little extra side note, I'm temporarily closing requests, but that's just until I get caught up with the ones I'm already writing. Thanks for all the lovely reviews! Eliot - I haven't included a written description of Ellie because I want people to build up their own image of what she looks like. ;) I haven't decided whether Ellie should have a go at driving one of the engines; as Jim is her superior, it would be his job to run them through their final tests. :)**


	5. Elevenses

**A/N: Request for CarsWorldFan; thank you for being so patient! I'm sorry it took me a little longer than usual to get this done.  
**

 _ **ELEVENSES  
**_

 **THOMAS**

Night was drawing in quickly; I felt a sense of peace and tranquility I hadn't felt for several weeks; a feeling of contentment when an argument has been sorted out, and that all's right with the world. I was sitting quietly in the almost empty Works, listening to the sounds of the workmen as they went about finishing off their days work. I was still not feeling on top of the world after my water tank had been punctured after one of my siderods had broken, despite the fact that Jim had made my repairs a top priority.

Even though I didn't feel great physically, as I mentioned before, mentally I felt a lot better. A part of me that my prideful side (I had nicknamed it Gordon. I think you can guess why) didn't want to acknowledge was simply wallowing in the relief that my feud with Percy was finally over. Alright, so it was partially because Ellie worked her psychological claptrap on him, but hey, not everyone can be as bright as I am. I'd never let her get on over me…at least not these days. I remembered back when she first came to the island, sometimes she played similar tricks on me. It wouldn't work now, but I was a much younger and sillier engine back then. Well. I suppose I can still be silly now, but that's not the point, is it?

I was reminiscing over the time I first met Ellie (but is 'met' the right word? Should it may be 'encountered'? 'Had the misfortune to meet'?) but in-between thinking about it and arguing with myself I must have fallen asleep. If this were a story in a book, I'd probably have told you the tale of the day I met Ellie via a dream sequence, but it isn't, so in actual fact I simply fell asleep and knew nothing more until I felt the sudden discomfort of someone tugging at the area around my water tank as they tried to repair it. I hissed uncomfortably, not so much in pain but mostly not best pleased that I had been woken up in such a rude manner. Someone was rubbing my buffer; it was very comforting. I half-opened one eye discreetly, fully expecting to see Jim but was surprised to find that it was Ellie who was comforting me in my hour of need.

I should imagine that you're very confused. I'll bet that you've been thinking that I don't really like Ellie. That maybe I think she's a nuisance. Well, she _is_ , but the first part isn't true. We've always had our little banter – and that's all it is, banter. I've never meant anything bad by it, and I'm sure that works both ways.

Our little banter was playing itself out right now. Ellie hadn't noticed when I woke up properly, so she didn't know that I'd seen the look of concern on her face when I'd been grimacing from the pain of my punctured water tank. A sort of warm feeling spread through my boiler. It's nice to know that somebody cares about you. This feeling was quelled quite quickly when I saw that she'd realized I was awake. She completely rearranged her expression.

"Morning, treasure," she said semi-mockingly, loud enough for everyone to hear. They laughed too, even Jim. That's him crossed off my 'favourite humans' list.

Although Ellie was mocking me, I noticed that she didn't stop rubbing my buffer. I decided to play the outraged card anyway.

" _Treasure_? Huh!"

Ellie smirked and flounced off to discuss my repairs with the workmen. She knows how to do her job, but _I_ think she's got the mind of a teenager. I suppose that's not always a bad thing, but on the other wheel that's only when I'm not the butt of her jokes.

I closed my eyes again, not intending to fall asleep, but to think. She didn't always tease me; in fact I remembered a time when I'd been thinking of something completely ridiculous, and yet Ellie was the one to stop me. The trouble with being stuck in the Works is that you always get far too much time to think.

* * *

 _ **1961 - THOMAS  
**_

My face was as red as it could possibly get. We're talking 'James red' here. I was off to the works to be repaired after an incident I wanted to forget as soon as possible, though I doubted I would be allowed to. I had a hedge lodged between my buffers, half-obscuring my face. I was so embarrassed that it was beginning to feel just like home behind there, and I almost didn't want to get rid of it. I thought of Percy and Toby laughing at me when I got back from the Works and groaned to myself. I decided there and then that I was never going back to the branch line again. I told my driver, too, but he just laughed, much to my irritation.

"Don't be so silly, Thomas! Of course you have to go back to your branch line! Where else would you go?"

"I'll go back to shunting in the yard," I replied indignantly. "It's a matter of principle!"

I'd heard the Fat Controller use this expression and I'd been dying to give it a try myself. When he'd said it, the men he'd been talking to had all looked very impressed, agreeing with dignified nods. But my driver and fireman just laughed even harder.

"Oh, Thomas," said the fireman. "You are a scream."

I personally didn't find it at all funny that they weren't taking me seriously, so I simply ignored them for the rest of the journey. I wouldn't go back to the branch line to be laughed at, not to mention that I felt terrible about what I'd done to the stationmaster's house. I thought of the danger I'd put them all in and shivered a bit. I knew secretly that this was probably the real reason that I didn't want to return to the branch line, but I wasn't ready to admit that yet. I'd simply stay at the works until they let me have my own way. It was completely unfeasible, I even knew that at the time, but I held on to that thought.

When we arrived, my crew were still chuckling amongst themselves. I felt a little bit upset that they hadn't realized that there was something more wrong with me than having a hedge up my nose. I was sitting there sulking when someone I didn't recognize walked over to me. It was a shortish woman with red hair and green eyes. She was wearing the same sort of uniform as some of the workman so I guessed she worked here. It wasn't all that surprising; I'd heard from engines who occasionally visited from the mainland that since the last war, women did lots of 'men's' jobs – but since Sodor always seems to remain behind everyone else, it was still a new and foreign thing to me to see a woman at the Fat Controllers works.

I had a sudden thought. If this person was new, perhaps they had come from the mainland. The Other Railway was becoming a difficult subject to discuss. Fewer engines came to visit us, and there seemed to be more diesels. I've nothing against diesels, and for the most part they were quite nice; you always get people who are unfriendly, but they seemed to be few and far between. Whenever I brought up the subject of the Other Railway to the other engines, they never seemed to want to talk about it. I'd had the idea of asking the Fat Controller, but I'd never quite plucked up the courage. But maybe this person would tell me?

"Where…where are you from?" I asked the newcomer with interest. She looked up at me, slightly surprised. I saw her taking in the battered buffers and the hedge lodged on my front, but I'll give her some credit, she never made any comments about the state I was in. My crew had done nothing but tease me all morning, and Percy and Toby had been sharing giggles, and I was fed up with it.

"Crewe; I moved here from Crewe." The stranger replied quietly.

Crewe? That was where Henry had his rebuild, wasn't it? I didn't know much about humans' domestic life at that point; seeing inside the stationmaster's house had been somewhat of an eye-opener for me. I'd been expecting…well, I don't know what I'd been expecting. I'd never really thought about where humans lived before. I'd seen their houses as I travelled along the rails, but I assumed that the inside would be sort of like a shed. What a silly engine I was!

"Crewe? You lived at Crewe?" We seemed to be repeating ourselves here. The stranger smiled at me.

"Yes, I lived and worked there. I came here from the works."

That confused me momentarily, as I was about to say that we were _at_ the Works, but then I realized that she meant the works at _Crewe_. I was about to ask something but she interrupted me.

"I'm Ellie. And you've got to be Thomas."

I scowled at her; it was as if my reputation preceded me or something. I carried on glaring at this Ellie person came over to me and proceeded to try and remove the hedge lodged between my buffers, which –I had to be honest – had been making communication difficult. She looked up at me, though she returned my glare with nothing more than an amused smile.

"That's not a very nice face to pull at someone who's trying to help you."

"Huh." Stop laughing at me; it was the most scathing reply I could think of at that moment. Ellie took no notice, and kept tugging at the bush. After a few minutes of: 'try pulling it that way…no, the other way' and 'can't you hurry up?', it came loose – albeit in a hundred pieces – but at least I could speak again without getting a mouthful of leaves and who knows what else, and I was truly grateful for that.

"I…erm…thanks," I muttered.

"You're welcome. At least now the workmen can get to you when they're ready to start your repairs. Then you can get back to your branch line."

I suppose I must have looked hurt because Ellie held up her hands in surrender.

"No, I didn't mean that I wanted to get rid of you. I just meant that I'm sure you want to be getting back to work."

She looked earnest enough, so I believed her. Then I did something I promised myself I wouldn't do.

I told her stuff.

"I…I don't want to go back."

Ellie looked astonished.

"You don't? Why not? From what I've heard your branch line is your pride and joy."

It was my turn to feel surprised. I didn't realize that people _knew_ it meant so much to me – especially a stranger. Mostly I would have kept my mouth shut; or waited until I could talk to Jim. But Jim didn't always hold with what he called my 'funny ideas', so I supposed Ellie was better than nothing. At least she listened.

"They'll all tease me about what happened. Why should I go back and have to listen to them? Sometimes I wish that they weren't there, so they'd leave me alone…"

I trailed off, because Ellie was looking at me with a cross between sympathy and something almost like anger. She was playing with one of the branches of the hedge, snapping it between her fingers, not looking at me. She was very quiet for a moment before speaking again.

"Don't ever wish your friends – or your branchline – away, Thomas. I know they probably do all sorts of silly things, and I can see that their teasing annoys you, but don't wish that they weren't there."

I hadn't expected this; I didn't even know where it had come from. I recognized that expression on Ellie's face – it was the same as what appeared on the others' faces whenever I brought up the Other Railway.

"Is it…is it really so bad on the mainland?" I ventured.

"Yes." Came the reply. "Yes it is."

"So it's true then? Diesels…really are taking over?"

Ellie looked solemn.

"Yes, at the moment they are. And while for now they considered new technology, modern and up to date, their future will eventually be uncertain, too. Technology always advances, Thomas. That's why you should be happy to be here on Sodor, where I don't think Sir Topham Hatt – or any of his descendants – will ever let you and your kind die out."

Things had taken a dark turn. I was about to say something to lighten the mood but Ellie stepped in for me.

"…that is unless you make a habit of visiting station-master's houses for breakfast, of course."

That line there is where our strange relationship really began. I cleared my throat before speaking; I wasn't going to allow this stranger to get the better of me!

"Are you going to get started on my repairs? I can't wait forever you know, I've got a branch line to run…"

"I thought you were never going back to your branch line?"

I snorted.

"What an idea! Who would the Fat Controller depend on to run the most important line on the whole railway? I can't believe you told me that I shouldn't go back! I'd best not trust you anymore!"

Ellie looked puzzled. As well she might. But then she cottoned on.

"I…I see. So that's how it is. We'd better get to work fixing you then, hadn't we?"

"I should say so." I replied, but as she walked past me to inform Jim of the latest happenings, I gave her a quick wink.

* * *

I was jolted back to reality again by someone's hand on my buffer. I opened one eye, though I knew exactly who it was.

"Are you alright, Thomas?"

"Yes." I answered the still-short, still mostly red-haired woman in front of me. "I'm fine."

We shared a smile before Ellie gave my buffer a little squeeze and went back to work. Like I said, Ellie's alright.

Sometimes.

 _ **~ End**_

 **A/N: I'm not 100% happy with this chapter. I struggled a bit with writing it, but I hope it will suffice! Thank you for the lovely reviews; next I've got a request from Aurora's Dream, followed by a request for Rosie Angelina. Just so you know I haven't forgotten you! Thanks for reading. :)**


	6. Friends Close, Enemies Closer

**A/N:** **Thank you all so so much for the reviews, favourites and follows. I'm deeply touched. It's very difficult to integrate an alien character into a canon universe and I'm glad that everyone seems to like Ellie. I'm not too sure about this one, even though it's a bit long!**  
 **Story suggestion by Aurora's Dream - hope you like it.  
**

 _ **FRIENDS CLOSE, ENEMIES CLOSER  
**_

We all knew it was coming, eventually. From Jim all the way down to the engine cleaners, this moment had been expected by us all. There was the sound of powerful machinery working to pull its load, a hissing of steam as the engines' driver slowed him down to a stop and then gently opened the cylinder cocks.

I hope that was a dramatic enough introduction for you all, because the rest of this account isn't that exciting. I just felt like sprucing it up a bit. A girl needs a bit of drama.

It was initially meant to be a quiet day, and so far this prediction had come true. At the Fat Controller's Works we are always prepared for anything; some days things go unexpectedly wrong; sometimes it's serious, but more often than not, it isn't. The Fat Controller's dedication to his engines' well-being, coupled with the fact that Sodor's engines are able to tell us exactly what hurts, and exactly _where_ , means that major incidences that could cause the unthinkable – things like boiler explosions, for example – are very rare. It's only during accidents and crashes that we get engines in life-threatening conditions; and that hasn't happened often. At least not since I've been here, anyway. All engines in a serious condition only have the Fat Controller's Works to turn to nowadays; sending them to bigger railway works such as Crewe, where I used to work with my father, has become a thing of the past. As time has passed the Works on Sodor has actually _become_ one of the only surviving railway works in the UK that is able to maintain such a range of engines and keep them in the pink of health. There's a huge range of engine classes here on Sodor as well, and the population has been steadily growing since the golden age of steam came to an end. There are also increasing numbers of engines from other countries, too, so if the Works wasn't self-sufficient and able to manufacture the range of parts needed on-site, it would be very difficult to upkeep them all. Thankfully, the booming tourist industry gives a good boost to the funding required.

I had clearly stopped working whilst I pondered all this, because Jim poked me in the back and I nearly threw the toolbox I'd been carrying right at him. I tried giving him a charming smile, but he sort of semi-glared at me. You know those women who smile at the fellows and they just melt like butter and then get away with murder? Yes, well, I'm not one of them.

Jim pointed to the engine who had just made his grand entrance – it was _two_ engines, actually – before speaking.

"Gordon's brought Spencer in for repairs. Set your team on it, Ellie. It's nothing major from what I've been told, but it looks like he'll need a couple of new exterior parts."

Since I took the job of a sort of deputy manager of a small team at the works, my job has been less hands-on than I'd like. I'm supposed to be the one the team report to and write up debriefings, and I suppose generally order them about, but I don't like it. I'd much prefer to be joining in with the 'real' work, it's what I love, it's what I've always wanted to do. I nodded my confirmation to Jim before heading over to the engines in question; Gordon and Spencer. I was slightly unsure about why Gordon had had to tow Spencer in until I got a bit closer and saw that he was missing a couple of bogie wheels and that the likely misalignment of his other wheels would have made for an extremely uncomfortable ride for both engine and crew. He must have taken quite a bashing.

A loud, bellowing laugh echoed through the workshops, and it certainly didn't come from Spencer, who was looking the closest to embarrassed and ashamed as I'd ever seen him. No, it came (unsurprisingly) from Gordon.

"Oh dear, Spencer. I thought you were supposed to be a fashionable engine, a _streamlined_ engine! Do all modern engines such as yourself crash disgracefully into buffers? Not to mention that you smashed straight through them…perhaps you should cut down on the coal?"

Spencer looked furious – well I mean who wouldn't, let's be honest. He's a show-off, he's arrogant, he thinks he knows everything - but in the end he must still have feelings. Somewhere. The attitude thing must be something to do with that particular class of engine, I suppose, as Spencer is a cousin of Gordon's; and they both have similar attitudes.

"It wasn't my fault! It was that blasted signalman! Fancy diverting me into a siding like that!"

Gordon laughed again, infuriatingly.

"The signalman was in the right. You know the F-er, Sir Topham Hatt-" Here Gordon paused and looked to see if anyone had heard him very nearly referring to the boss by his nickname. I don't know why. It wasn't exactly a secret anymore, though to be honest it was widely understood that it was actually a term of endearment rather than one of vindictiveness. Gordon cleared his throat before continuing.

"You know full well that Sir Topham Hatt doesn't like us to race. It's a danger and against railway regulations." Gordon said this with a smattering of superiority. "Your crew should certainly have known better! The signalman sees you come charging down the line like your tender's on fire, I expect he thought you were a runaway. That's why he diverted you into the siding."

"But I was winning!" Spencer very nearly whined.

"Perhaps," replied Gordon impishly, "but since you crashed I win by default. Simple as that."

Gordon caught sight of me and the workmen – I say work _men_ , even though I'm far from the only woman at the works any more – and he laughed again.

"Now you'll have to deal with the consequences, Spencer. I'm going to have to leave you in the questionable experience of Ellie Briggs and her team. Good luck to you!"

I was used to being referred to in such a way by Gordon, but that didn't mean I was going to accept it graciously. I pulled a face at him, which is more than I'd have dared to do in the past. He raised a condescending eyebrow and then winked at me, as if he expected me just to take it and then forgive him. Which is exactly what I would do.

 _Note to self: Practice holding grudges_.

"Goodbye, Spencer! Try not to smash up the Fat Controller's Works, will you?"

And with a departing whistle, Gordon the tactful engine left us alone with Spencer.

Spencer's driver and fireman sheepishly exited his cab having previously dropped the silver engine's fire and exhausted the boiler of steam; they mumbled something about going home early and vanished before anyone could ask them anything. From what I deduced Spencer's crew were much like him; they enjoyed taking risks, seeing how far they could push the boundaries before it came back and bit them on the…thing.

In other words, they were completely capable of being idiots.

Before we could commence the job in hand, we had to wait for Spencer to cool down completely – and by that I mean physically, not mentally – so that it would be safe for the workmen to handle him and find out just what needed repair and replacement. He'd have to go up on the hoist but it was quite clear he'd need a wheel realignment, not to mention his left piston was quite badly warped out of shape.

I suppose it must have hurt quite a bit, but I think his ego was hurting him on a far higher level at that moment.

The next two hours were not good ones for Spencer. Within a very short period, the Fat Controller had arrived to speak to him. Now, for the record, Sir Hatt does not own Spencer. Spencer belongs to the Duke and Duchess of Boxford, who are from the mainland. I suppose he must have some origins on Sodor, or he wouldn't be alive in the first place; before moving here, no other engine I'd met had been a conscious being – as far as I was aware. I suppose I'll have to put that down to being one of life's great mysteries.

Back to the present, Sir Hatt arrived at the Works with his two bodyguards – I stifled a laugh, they always followed him everywhere, like a couple of penguins – and everyone in the Works fell silent. It was as if the Queen herself had arrived. All the people working around Spencer bobbed out of sight – myself included, I hid in the cab with Jerry and Erin, though it was more out of consideration for Spencer. No-one enjoys an audience when they're getting a reprimand, do they? Sir Hatt certainly made his contempt for Spencer's behaviour well-known.

"…and this behavior simply isn't good enough, Spencer. While you are here you are a guest on my railway and I expect you to behave with as such."

I couldn't actually see Spencer's face because I was in the cab, but he must have been wearing an expression similar to that of a defiant teenage boy (though he hadn't said anything) because the Fat Controller suddenly blew his top with twice the force than before. His voice was loud enough echoing round the Works to rival even Gordon's. Erin dug me in the ribs and raised her eyebrows at the tone of Sir Hatt's voice as if to say: "Oooh, he's for it now." When things like this happen we're all like a bunch of school kids sometimes, particularly if the engine in question really deserves some comeuppance.

"…the Duke is even less pleased about this than I am! He was counting on you to do your best!"

You could feel the silver engine tense up at the mention of the Duke. Primarily a machine or not, there are still certain sensations you only find in the cab of a Sodor engine. Happiness, sadness, stress – they're all present on the engine's footplate, you just have to learn how to read them. That's why the bond between an engine and the people who handle them is one of the most important connections on a steam railway.

"You're…you're going to _tell_ the Duke?"

For the first time since Gordon had left, the A4 Pacific spoke. I would have personally opted for 'sorry' as one of my first words to Sir Topham Hatt, but it was too late now.

"B-but Sir, it's not only my fault! Gordon was racing too!"

 _Grass_ , I thought to myself, though why I was concerned with sticking up for Gordon I didn't know.

"I'm aware of that Spencer; and I shall be having words with him too, in due course. He may have been racing you as far as you were concerned, but he was also taking the express along the main line and had not diverted from any of his usual jobs. You, however, were not scheduled to be on the adjacent line at the same time. Do you realize the scale of accident that you could have caused?!"

There was a short silence; it was clear Spencer (or his crew, I hasten to add) hadn't considered this at all.

"I'll leave you to think about that," The Fat Controller said. "As to your punishment, I'll leave the Duke of Boxford to sort that out. I shall be seeing to your repairs as the Duke is a good friend of mine and a patron of the railway. I hope you are sorry for your behavior."

"Yes sir. Sorry, Sir."

Spencer's voice was meeker than I think I'd ever heard it. That said, I only knew him by reputation and what I'd overheard in the past, so it really wasn't much to go on.

Sir Topham and his minions came past the cab as he headed out of the Works to return to his car; we all immediately looked busy.

"How long will it take?" he barked, clearly addressing me, though I was surprised he even remembered I still worked here. I did a quick calculation in my head.

"Taking into account the manufacturing of the parts and the wheel realignment, I'd say about a week, Sir. If we work fast."

"Then be quick about it, please. The Duke will be wanting Spencer back next week; I don't want to have to delay his return."

"Yes, Sir." Sir Hatt nodded to Jerry, Erin and myself curtly before turning on his heel and leaving.

Clearly we all wanted to get rid of Spencer, Sir Topham Hatt included. That fact made me feel a little sorry for him, but as the next few days progressed this newfound sympathy evaporated altogether.

Spencer the A4 Pacific was a little bit difficult. That's putting it politely; he was a downright pain.

He spent one afternoon doing nothing but moaning, berating the workmen as they raised him up on the hoist, complaining of how everyone and everything was beneath him (which was quite amusing to me, because, you know, he was suspended from a _hoist_ ) and generally being unpleasant until everyone was ready to start throwing coal at him.

Percy came by shortly before closing time on one day to deliver some materials that we had been waiting for so that the particular parts that were needed could be manufactured – one thing I'll say about Sir Hatt is that he never cut corners as far as engine repairs were concerned; all Sodor engines had only the best quality – and in the short space of time the little green saddletank was there he managed to insult him, too. I don't know what was said but it certainly got under Percy's skin because he stormed off without a word, which is most unusual. Most of the works staff have a soft spot for Percy; he's got a cheeky side like Thomas, but he also has a special ability to get on with almost everyone, be they engine or human. If the apocalypse came and there was nothing left but Percy and a tree, Percy would somehow be able to make friends with the tree. He's just a people person. Or engine. Come on, you know what I mean.

When six o'clock came on the last day but one, half the workmen couldn't get out of there quick enough. Even Jim the foreman did a bunk as though his life depended on it, which, as you know, was completely unheard of. Erin and Jerry were good enough to help me sort things out into some sort of order, along with a couple of Jim's chaps who hadn't had the 'pleasure' of working with Spencer all day, every day for the last week.

"Let's get out of here, Ellie," Erin said to me as we finished our tasks. "Why don't we go for a drink or something? I think we deserve it after all day listening to _that_ again." She gestured with her thumb, speaking deliberately loud enough for Spencer to hear her. He gave her a scowl that could have matched Gordon's for ferocity. As much as it pained me, I shook my head.

"I can't," I sighed, gesticulating towards the makeshift office where I did all my paperwork. "Overtime."

Erin looked aghast and Jerry took his cap off and held it to his chest as though a hearse had just passed by, cheeky whatsit.

"Good luck, Ellie." Erin said solemnly, as though I was off over the top and into No Man's Land. I laughed at her.

"See you tomorrow. Don't pull a sickie on me."

She laughed and left with the others; I could hear them chatting lightly as though a great weight had been lifted from their shoulders. I expected they were still off to the pub. Boo.

So I was left alone. With Spencer. It wasn't a thought I relished. I could feel him staring at me all the way across the floor to the office. Unfortunately, the way the little room was positioned meant that he could directly see me when I sat at my desk. I didn't really feel I could slam the door in his face. So I carried on, trying to work in the uncomfortable silence.

Being quiet was clearly not a standard habit for Spencer, because he lasted all of about ten minutes before speaking, his rather snooty voice shouting across to me and penetrating the relative peace of the steam works.

"Do I have to spend another night in _this_ place? Why haven't you finished working on me yet? I thought Gordon said you were some sort of manager or something? So why am I still here? If the Duke knew about how long you'd all made me wait for my repairs he'd be appalled."

Spencer had clearly forgotten he was in big-time disgrace with the Duke. It seemed he only remembered what he really wanted to, and at the moment, he wanted to remember that he was the apple of the Duke's eye. However his condescending tone infuriated me; he was worse than Gordon, or even James.

"You haven't waited for your repairs. We got to work on you the same day as you came in; back when I worked at Crewe we had so many engines come in at once that you'd have had to wait more than just an hour or so before we got started on you."

Great, now he had me talking like someone's grandmother. _Back when I were a girl…_

"I should be your top priority. You're not dealing with your silly little Sodor engines now!"

This statement made me prickle with anger. It's not just me. When one moves to and works on Sodor, you become very protective of the engines. It's because they're simply so special, overly sentimental as that sounds.

"Look, if you hadn't been racing Gordon, you wouldn't be here in the first place! Why are you so obsessed with competing with him anyway? What's in it for you? Whatever it is that you're trying to prove, it's not working."

I hadn't actively shouted at Spencer before. I had lived out the week mainly ignoring his demands and unfounded complaints, but I had seen several of my colleagues lose their tempers with him. It was a rarity for an engine to row with the people who were fixing them – don't bite the hand that feeds you, as the saying goes – but Spencer hadn't spared any feelings. At that moment I really just wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine, and I waited impatiently for his retort.

He had actually flushed red, quite unexpectedly, then coughed. I looked over at him in surprise. Something I had said had touched a nerve. Or maybe he didn't like being treated the way he treated others, who knows.

"I'm…not trying to prove anything." He muttered, and just for a moment his voice lost that snooty edge. In that few seconds I learned something new. Spencer is a bad liar. I decided to try a more gentle approach, though I don't know why I bothered. Spencer had made his contempt for me very clear. But I put aside the blueprints I'd been looking over and went across to him. I leaned casually on one of his new buffers and hoped he wouldn't eat me and accuse me of scratching it or something.

"Alright, the doctor is in. What's the story?"

Spencer gave me that curled-lip look of his. You know the one; it's the sort of look your grandmother gives you when you do something she doesn't like. I was going to try again, but Spencer got in before me.

"I have to prove myself to the Duke and Duchess."

He said it so quietly that I thought I'd misheard him. The way he was looking at me made me vaguely uncomfortable, as though he was waiting for me to mock him or something.

"Why?" I asked, truly not understanding.

"Why do you think?" he snorted, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The Duke and Duchess of Boxford are highly fashionable people, with a position to uphold in society, though I doubt you'd understand such things."

I decided to ignore that one, because I was genuinely growing interested in what Spencer was telling me and I wanted to know what he was going to say next. I doubted I'd get this chance again, so I waited.

"Well…what if they go looking for a newer model? The Duke has a fascination with everything modern and new technology. If I don't prove I'm still faster and more reliable than everyone else…how am I going to keep his interest? And then what happens? I get scrapped? It's alright for Gordon and that lot. The Fat Controller wouldn't let anything happen to them. But…but I'm not one of his engines, am I?"

During this little speech, Spencer's attitude had altered slightly; it was almost as if he was looking for reassurance. I sighed, almost feeling sorry for him now, before I spoke.

"Look, Spencer. I honestly don't think you've got anything to worry about. From what I've heard the Duke and Duchess think a lot of you. I very much doubt they'd even consider sending you to a scrapyard. And even if the day did come where they…er…they…"

Spencer was watching my expression very carefully. I cleared my throat and carried on.

"If they did ever decide to replace you…" Spencer made a sort of anguished sound. I felt like a right cow, even though I was coming to what I thought was a valid point. "…don't you think the Fat Controller would want to buy you? He'd never let any engine who's worked on his island be on the receiving end of such a cruel fate."

"You…you really think he would do that?"

Spencer was sounding less and less like a pompous windbag and more like a child who needed soothing every minute. It was quite surreal. I felt my self-confidence increase slightly.

"Of course he would! He's saved engines who are in a terrible state in the past, even when everyone else had lost all hope for them." I thought of Henry at Crewe, and I thought back to places I'd seen like Woodham Brothers Scrapyard, and shivered slightly. "If he was willing to restore them and get them back into working order, why wouldn't he buy you if push came to shove? The Duke's kept you in a perfect condition; there wouldn't even need to be any work done." I stopped here, because I was sounding like a used car salesman, and I didn't want to make a fool of myself completely. Spencer was staring at me as if I'd fallen out of the sky.

"I…well…erm…thank you for saying that."

I blinked. I hadn't expected thanks from Spencer.

"That's alright. I'm not just saying it to make you feel better. I honestly think that's what the Fat Controller would do." And I smiled genuinely at him, because I know that however daunting Sir Topham Hatt might be, he is always kind and fair to any engines who come into his care, whether it be a passing visit or if they were staying on a permanent basis.

Spencer hadn't finished speaking.

"You and the others…I suppose I should say thank you for getting me repaired."

As reluctant as that statement was, I couldn't help thinking that perhaps I could get to like this less bolshy version of Spencer.

"Though…maybe you could have got me finished a little bit faster…?"

I sighed and decided I wasn't going to spoil the moment by arguing with him.

"Fine, Spencer. Maybe we could have worked a little bit quicker."

 _But only if we'd cut out all the safety checks and put him at risk._ I decided not to include that statement out loud.

By midday on Tuesday the final checks were finally complete and Spencer could go on his merry way. He still had to face the wrath of the Duke of Boxford but he didn't seem quite as bothered about that as he had previously. He had been fired up and he was simmering nicely when his crew came to collect him, and sat on the rails looking as proud as he'd ever looked. He gave me a sort of contemptuous glance when I came over to say goodbye to him, and I couldn't help but wonder if this was another James situation, where neither of us were sure if we were friends or enemies. Thinking about his behavior over the last week I secretly decided I liked James a lot more. I cleared my throat before speaking to him.

"Good luck, Spencer. Try and avoid Gordon."

He sniffed. "Try and run your team to time more instead of holding up engines with important jobs."

We were sort of jibing each other, but it wasn't really malicious.

"Thankyoufororganizingformetogetmended."

He muttered his thanks so fast that I took a few moments to process what he'd said. When I fell in, I smiled at him. I hadn't expected anymore thanks, especially in front of everybody, and I hoped he'd bothered to thank my colleagues who'd also been working flat out to get him finished by the deadline.

"You're welcome, Spencer."

There was nothing else to be said, really, so with a hiss of steam and the ear-splitting sound of his whistle, Spencer's wheels slowly ground into action. I watched him slowly move off, wondering if perhaps he'd turn over a new leaf now and would be more conscious of his actions. His driver must have said something to him, because the last words I heard him say were:

"Are you joking? I'm faster than ever now. Ready for anything, that's me."

I sighed as I went back to work – he hadn't learned a thing.

 **~ END**

 **A/N: So this one was a little harder to write. Variety is key in fanfiction (to my preferences at least) so I'm trying hard to make each story a little different, despite the limited location of the Fat Controllers Works. Most of my stories are kind of emotion-driven, so it was quite hard for me to portray Spencer and think of something that would bother him, because all I've got to go on from the series is the fact that he's fast, pompous and brash xD**

 **Just a little side note - I'm temporarily taking a break from writing these stories. I haven't had any inspiration to write another chapter yet, plus I've been working on a collab with the lovely CarsWorldFan called 'Shining Light'. The reason I've made 'Friends or Enemies' a set of short stories is so that I can dip in and out, adding bits and pieces when I have the inspiration and time. That way, when I take a break or can't find time to write, there aren't any cliffhangers. Thanks for reading, and all reviews are welcome and very much loved. :)  
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